


Superman

by morganya



Category: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-12
Updated: 2003-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the party, in a black limousine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superman

Ted is Superman, Thom realizes, once he's sprawled out in the limo and they're driving through the city. Maybe not in the whole technical whoo-I-can-fly sense, more the other thing. The secret identity thing.

He must be a little drunk if he's thinking about this.

But it makes more and more sense as he considers it. Clark Kent and Ted - Midwestern guys, reporters, polite to a fault, myopic. Clark Kent never goes for the glory. Clark Kent is never around when Superman swoops in to save the day.

He sometimes worries that the rest of them drown Ted out, without meaning to - that the combination of Carson's savvy wit, Jai's kittenish enthusiasm, Kyan's serene, sweet Zen and his own nervous energy could override someone a little more reserved, a little less eager to please. He worries about not having Ted's stability around anymore.

That may be why it's such a shock to him to turn his head and see Ted out of Clark Kent mode. The glasses have been replaced with contacts, the black Armani suit turning Ted's slight frame sinuous. It's like sitting next to a stranger. Thom supposes it was to be expected; it was a premiere, everyone needed to pretty up, but he hadn't been prepared for the blue of Ted's eyes, wide-spaced and shocking under dark, sloping brows. The glasses dominate Ted's face ordinarily, as if his face was only made up of nose and narrow frames, without them he becomes almost unrecognizable.

"You seem to be staring at me," Ted says, "which means I've either got something on my face or you're hammered."

"Check your mouth," Thom says, a little embarrassed; he was staring, but he's not going to admit it. He turns away, rummages through the vast expanse of the limousine interior until he finds the champagne and glasses. The perks of celebrity. "Oh, mah goodness, Ah think Ah done found it."

"Let me see this," Ted says, ever the connoisseur, and takes the bottle from him, squinting at the label. "Hmmm. Mmm-hmm."

"Give me your expert opinion."

"Well, I don't think we'll go blind from drinking it, but otherwise I wouldn't use it for anything but watering the plants. Still want some?"

"Gee, you think?" Thom laughs.

"Don't say I didn't warn you. Could you hand me a glass, please?"

The champagne is such a pale yellow that it almost doesn't qualify as a color, bubbles floating upwards in fluted glasses. Ted says, "Think the other boys'll mind us stealing the booze?"

"Seriously? No."

They'd left the after-party early; it was the kind of affair Thom wasn't used to, in a huge, fake-Baroque ballroom with ugly red sconces, the room stuffed with round tables that really should have been in a cafe instead. The guests seemed perfectly content with sitting at them wearing dark sunglasses and trying to out-disaffect each other. You weren't at a party when you went to a show business party; you were upholding a persona.

Carson had been too entranced with the cavalcade of stars to notice or care about the atmosphere. He'd been sitting beside Thom at the table; he was unbelievably sharp-eyed. Every so often he'd grab Thom's arm like a giddy teenager and whisper, "Oh, my God, Keira Knightley looks gorgeous...What's the matter with Ryan Phillippe, he's hiding his light under a bushel...Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..."

Jai treated the premiere the same way he treated every event, as though he were king of the prom. It was a combination of charm and networking, an ingrained actor's habit. Every so often he turned back towards their table and waved, grinning ecstatically. "Aw, look at our little Bill Clinton," Carson said, watching Jai hug and kiss everyone he came across as he moved through the room. "I'm sure _he'll_ find someone to smoke his cigar tonight."

Kyan could have been anywhere, because he was with Rob, the two of them radiating lovers' invincibility. They sat across from him, like inverted images of each other, Rob tall and blond and broad, Kyan smaller, dark and broad, and Thom wanted to reach across the table and hug them both, tightly, just to make sure the image was real.

Ted sat on Thom's left, nursing his martini. Thom knew he wasn't really comfortable at big parties, not the type to hit the clubs every night. He'd learned how to fake it well, though, it was part of being on TV. Thom would be in the middle of a sentence and see Ted hovering around his peripheral vision, all pale skin and bright blue eyes.

As the party wore on, Thom wondered how it was that liquor could make the crowd more bored instead of less. He liked parties where the air was palpable with sweat and smoke, and you could barely push your way through the bodies. Thom finished his beer and wondered who told the DJ that Phil Collins would be fabulous dance music.

"You look like I feel," Ted said in his ear. "Let's get out of here."

Despite his boredom, Thom almost said no; he was an optimist, and he still harbored a faint hope that things would improve. He turned to say something.

Ted's hand was on the back of his chair. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Thom, mouth quirked in a crooked half-smile.

"Okay," Thom said obediently.

Ted rose. "I'm stealing your ride home, gents," he said, "and I'm taking Thom with me."

"You're really leaving?" Kyan said.

"We are _gone,_" Thom said.

"Something interesting might happen," Carson said. "I think Bonnie Hunt might take her top off any second." He paused. "Actually, that might be a good reason to leave now. Later, peeps." He opened his arms.

Thom bent over Carson's chair to hug him. "Tell Jai I said bye."

"If he ever stops circulating, it'll be the first thing out of my mouth." Carson rubbed his back. "Be careful, okay, munchkin?" At least that's what Thom thinks Carson said, because the DJ chose that moment to switch from Phil Collins to a squealing remix of Hot in Herre, a transition that made Thom's head snap around, and by the time he thought to say, "Huh?" Carson was saying goodbye to Ted and the moment had passed.

Thom gave Kyan a hug, Rob leaning back, bemusedly surveying the scene, and Kyan, no doubt blissfully unaware that he worked with strange people, murmured, "Bye, bro." Thom pulled away and watched Kyan settle back, hand on Rob's knee.

"You ready?" Ted said.

"Yeah. You realize I have no idea where we're going, right?" Thom blinked at the light glaring from the ugly red sconce and made his way towards the door, Ted's hand hovering near his back.

Thom tilts his head back and swallows. It's not horrible champagne, as Ted has led him to believe. It's not the most wonderful thing in the world, but it's still tasty. Ted is drinking it resignedly.

Thom takes his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. The pack is slightly squished. "Do you mind?" he asks. "'Cause it's cool if you don't want me to."

"Nah, it's all right. I'm sure I've smelled worse."

"Kindly refrain from telling me about your sex life, Mr. Allen," Thom says prissily, grinning. He lights a cigarette. The limousine is too large for the two of them, all sprawling leather seats and shiny silver controls. The privacy partition is still rolled up.

Ted slides out of his suit jacket. "How do you put up with going to those things?"

"Well, that one was...I mean, it was...that one was bad," Thom says. "The one in LA was fun. Where they had the go-go cages."

"Yeah, that one was good. Ever think you'd be sitting in a limo comparing parties?"

"Well, yeah," Thom says and laughs. "I'm a man with expensive tastes, y'see."

"Ah. You hide it so well, I didn't notice. I think it's your wardrobe."

"I'm just keeping it real."

Ted grins at him; Thom suddenly needs to swallow. He finishes his glass and pours another. Ted keeps blinking; eyes blurry and red-rimmed.

"Shit," Thom says. "This is bothering you, isn't it? I'll put it out. I'm sorry." He scans the interior for an ashtray.

Ted shakes his head, putting out a hand. He takes a white contact case out of his pocket. "I'm okay. It's just my damned contacts, they're driving me crazy. Wait a minute." He turns away, popping the contacts out with an audible sigh, and turns back once everything's in order. "All set."

Thom stubs out his cigarette and leans over. He puts a hand on the back of Ted's neck. Ted tilts his head, curious but not pulling away. "Yeah?" he says softly. Thom touches his lips to Ted's forehead and lets him go.

"Kissing it better."

Ted says nothing. He almost smiles, a quirk of his soft, crooked mouth. Thom is thinking, _Okay, maybe that was a stupid thing to do._ Thom is thinking, _I can blame it on the booze tomorrow._ Thom is thinking, _God, his eyes are blue._

Ted leans forward, taking hold of his shoulders, and pulls him across the seat.

There's a brief where-do-we-put-our-noses issue, before Ted's lips part under Thom's, his fingers entangled in Thom's hair. Thom is twisted to face him, his right leg almost slipping off the edge of the seat, and he's going to get a godawful cramp in about two seconds but he can't say he really gives a shit.

Thom pulls away from the kiss and ducks his head, pressing his mouth to the underside of Ted's jaw, nipping at the skin. Ted shivers, a low sound coming from deep in his throat.

"That's...that's sensitive, so...uh..._Jesus._" He lets go of Thom's hair. Thom laughs.

"Wiseass," Ted whispers, dark and sweet. He slides his hand down Thom's side, following the planes of his body. His fingers are sure and strong as steel. "Incorrigible. _Wanton._"

Thom hums against his throat and silently urges him to keep talking, keep talking, say his name, let him drown in words. Let there be nothing else in the world but Ted's voice and Ted's hands, his eyes and mouth and the fragile curve of his throat.

The car comes to a stop.

They both freeze. "The fuck?" Ted says. Thom starts to say the same thing, but all that comes out is, "Guh?"

The driver's voice comes over the intercom. "We're here. Park West." Thom looks out the window and sees his apartment building. Shit.

Thom stares at the floor. Ted raises his face with both hands and kisses him, laughing.

"Thom. Give him a tip," Ted says, "and tell him to wait."

Ted always knows how to save the day.


End file.
